


The Bartender

by x_lover_of_life_x



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock is pining like a school girl, bartender!John, bartending au, hipster!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_lover_of_life_x/pseuds/x_lover_of_life_x
Summary: Tracking an MI6 deserter at a club is not what Sherlock wanted to be doing. Dealing with idiot people wasn't high on his list of favorite things. But maybe the bartender can change his mind?





	The Bartender

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at the BBC Sherlock Universe! Feel free to give thoughts!  
> I thought of the idea walking home from work. I may or may not be a bartender, and the first part of this may or may not be related to a conversation I overheard between two individuals at said bartending job. I had been re-watching Sherlock for approx. the billionth time and thought it was something Sherlock would've said. Now enough with my prattling! Enjoy!

The deafening blare of the music through the speakers pulsed in Sherlock’s ears, threatening to turn his brain into mush. Why did the suspect he was tracking have to frequent clubs like this? Sherlock hated clubs. Surely he was to go mad before the person in question walked through the door. Stupid Mycroft sending Sherlock all the way to America tracking some MI6 deserter. What did it matter if he had stolen ‘state secrets.’ Sherlock could find the information from any one of the hundreds of homeless network he has, and they sleep in crack dens on a nightly basis. He supposed it was better than the alternative, going with his parents to see a musical they had tickets to. Sherlock shuddered at the thought. No this was much better. 

Sherlock looked down at the untouched drink the lady bartender had set in front of him. He wasn’t planning on drinking it but he’d learned before that bartenders tended to frown at people who sat at the bar without ordering anything. Fixing his eyes on the door across from him, he attempted to tune out the noise of those around him. 

He felt rather than saw the man sidle up next to him. Too close to be an accident. Too far to be creepy. Sherlock huffed out a breath and steadfastly ignored the pointed look the other man was giving him. He was persistent however. He leaned over into Sherlock’s space and yelled so he could be heard over the noise of the club.

“You have gorgeous eyes.” His voice was unusually high for a man’s.  
Nervous.  
Sherlock never looked away from the door. The man, apparently convincing himself he was too good to be refused, spoke again.  
“You don’t look like the type to frequent places like this.” Boring.  
“Brillant! You’re observational skills are level now with a toddler. Go away.”  
“That’s an interestin’ accent you got. Where you from?” Once again Sherlock huffed a sigh and barely held back the eye roll threatening to surface at the horrid use of the English language.

“Does it matter?” Sherlock said, all the while still staring at the door.

“I’m sorry?” Was it any more possible for this man’s voice to get higher. Sherlock admittedly sighed once more and turned to face the nameless man. He quickly glanced the man from head to toe and let out a low chuckle.

“Look at you. Dull.” Sherlock locked eyes with the man and took a deep breath. “This goes one way. You comment on my accent. Ask me where I’m from. I tell you. You nod your head and mention that one friend of a friend that most everyone seems to have that may have been anywhere of 100 places in a 100 mile radius of the town I mentioned. You chuckle to appease your obvious discomfort at never having heard of it Then ask if I want another drink even though mine has barey been touched for something to say. May I suggest we fast forward through the tediousness and get to the point? I have more pressing things to do.” The man awkwardly shuffles his feet and glances quickly around.  
“Alright fine. Can I get you a drink?”  
“No.”  
“No?!” The man’s eyes flare with almost anger.  
“Yes I said no. Shocking! But seeing as how your ten thousand dollar watch and Italian leather shoes are clearly making up for your obvious receding hairline and your inability to commit, probably has something to do with the wife and three kids you have at home, and your rather unimpressive penis, you’d be wasting your money anyway.” The man went red in the face and repeatedly opened and closed his fist as if he was deciding whether or not to take a swing at the man before him. Sherlock merely turned back to the door.  
He ultimately decided not to take action and spat out, “Asshole!” as he was walking away.  
“Yes, thank you good-bye.” Sherlock said under his breath deciding a drink of whatever he had ordered, (He couldn’t remember) was needed at the moment.  
“Bit harsh don’t ya think?” Sherlock’s head snapped up at the sudden voice. In his distraction with the man he had failed to notice a new bartender take place of the small pink haired woman who had served him his first drink.  
“Not harsh. Honest.” The man behind the bar grinned. Sherlock found himself mirroring the motion.  
“Some would say they are one in the same.” Who was this man? With his sandy blonde hair and ocean blue eyes?  
“Some are idiots.” Sherlock replied automatically. He waited for the insult back. Or the harsh glare and turning of the man’s back to him. But it never came. The man just smiled wider. Sherlock swallowed hard and looked away from the man’s face. He glanced down at the well toned chest visible even through the black button down he was wearing. His jeans hugged his thighs and Sherlock could just barely see the outline of his phone in his front pocket. The outfit was finished with white suspenders and a polka-dotted bowtie hanging loose around his neck.  
“Yes I suppose they could be.” The bartender eyes lighted with mischief. “Do you want another?” He motioned to Sherlock’s nearly empty drink. When had that happened? Sherlock nodded his head in ascent.  
“You’ll have to tell me what it was.”  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock muttered. Had the volume of the club lowered drastically? Sherlock couldn’t hear anything but muffled noise, yet heard the bartender’s tenor voice perfectly. Once again the bartender grinned.  
“You don’t know? Didn’t you order it?”  
“Yes but I deleted it as soon as I had.” That caused a flash of confusion to run across the bartender’s face.  
“Deleted it? As in you deleted it from your mind?”  
“Yes.”  
“Ok.” He paused as if thinking of the concept. He quickly shook his head and looked back to Sherlock. Once again locking his eyes with the other man’s.  
“How about I just make you something and see if you like it?” Sherlock nodded. Had he lost the ability to form a sentence? The bartender turned his back and began pouring various liquids in the shaking tin. As soon as Sherlock had lost contact with the distracting eyes he began processing all he had seen.  
The Bartender had an English accent, possibly north London. His posture suggested military, as did his haircut. He’d been injured, he was favouring his left arm. Possible gunshot wound. The tan lines on the back of his neck and wrist suggest somewhere that had been adorned with constant sun. So Afganistan or Iraq. Now that he had his back to him Sherlock was only slightly distracted by his rather attractive ass. FOCUS! He shook his head as he deduced more. He moved as if he was uncomfortable with the movements. So fairly new as a bartender then. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to the elbow and Sherlock could just barely make out the bottom of a tattoo on his forearm. Harry? Hmm, could be a significant other? No, the Bartender didn’t seem to be the non-sensible type. So a family member then. One only gets a tattoo of a family member if they’re deceased or a child. So which one? The Bartender stretched upward at that moment to reveal a date on the tattoo. Dated nearly ten years ago. Sherlock estimated the age of the Bartender around thirty. So leaning toward family member. The Bartender had a ring on his right hand from Bart’s medical college. So a doctor. An army doctor? Intriguing. Sherlock startled as the Bartender placed the new drink in front of him. Sherlock glanced up then took a sip of the purple liquid in front of him. It was good. Refreshing actually. Vodka. Cranberry. What else was that? He looked back up at the Bartender and smiled.  
“It’s good. Thank you.”  
“No problem.” The Bartender leaned back against the counter and looked at Sherlock for a mere moment. Almost as if to ask a question. His attention was otherwise drawn by a customer wanting another drink. Sherlock had never before wanted to snap a person’s neck so much in his life. He shook his head at the thoughts of murder floating across his consciousness. A perceptive glance of the room around him had told him he hadn't missed his target in his distraction. He fixed his gaze on the door once more.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ It had been nearly 20 minutes and the Bartender hadn’t checked on him again. Though there wasn’t much of a need. Sherlock’s drink was still mostly full and he couldn’t be possibly bothered to come back to chat when he had other paying customers.  
Chat?  
Since when did Sherlock like to chat? He looked to his watch. He had been here for approximately 3 hours. The main time for entry had passed and he supposed the target wasn’t likely to show up tonight. He turned back toward where the Bartender was serving another drink to a customer. He locked eyes with Sherlock and Sherlock felt his stomach flip at the intensity of his gaze. Sherlock made the universal sign to close his tab and waved good-bye. Forcing himself to turn his back on the gaze of the man, he gathered his coat and scarf and turned toward the door.  
“Going so soon?” The Bartender’s voice was much closer than Sherlock had expected anyone’s to be. Sherlock suspected that if he turned around he would come nose to nose with the man. He didn’t quite trust himself with the proximity so he took a half step forward and turn around. His words caught in his throat as he looked at the man before him. He hadn’t noticed how short the man was while he had been sitting. The man was nearly a half foot shorter than himself. A piece of hair had fallen from it’s neat style and was hanging down his forehead and Sherlock found himself wanting nothing more than to brush it back into place. He cleared his throat once, then once more for good measure.  
“Yes well, the friend I was waiting on was a no show.” The man’s face fell at the word friend. Why? Did he want Sherlock to be alone?  
The man nodded.  
“Right, yeah, well, uh, have a good one then.” He stuck his hand out in front of him and looked up into Sherlock’s eyes. God those eyes.  
“It’s John by the way.” Sherlock gripped the man’s proffered hand and nodded.  
“It’s nice to meet you John. The names Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock let go of his hand and it suddenly felt much more heavy than before. He turned with the Barten---NO! John’s eyes on his back. He smiled to himself as he made his way out the door.

Maybe clubs weren’t so bad afterall.  
At least not ones where the bartender was John the army doctor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for actually reading to theend! If you enjoyed it please let me know!! If you thought it was shit, I value all opinions! I'm actually thinking about continuing..so If thats something you would like let me know!  
> Also this is not beta-ed so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also note: I am a terrible artist! If anyone of you lovely people wanted to draw Hipster!john in his bartending outfit I think we would all appreciate it! at least I would!  
> ~~B <3


End file.
